


Gotta Go Fast

by vatreniworld



Series: Luka Wins Everything [1]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Abandon sanity all who proceed, Gen, Superpowers, This is complete and utter crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 05:05:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17155823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vatreniworld/pseuds/vatreniworld
Summary: It was going to take a miracle for Real Madrid to come back from a three point deficit.Or perhaps just some clever intervention from two children.





	Gotta Go Fast

**Author's Note:**

> This is a “Luka Wins Everything AU” for my friends after that horrendous game by Real Madrid where Luka literally played every position and the commentators still called him garbage.
> 
> Crossposted from my blog.
> 
> Musical Inspiration: "Don't Stop Me Now" by Queen

This wasn’t working.

“Nacho! We’re wearing red! Get your head out of your ass!” Toni bellowed.

Luka thought that was rich coming from Toni who made three bad passes to Luka already tonight.

He was running out of options. Every time he tried to pass to Gareth, he would immediately pass it back instead of charging farther into Sevilla’s territory. Marco couldn’t shake off a toothless chihuahua tonight.

The defensive line wasn’t holding either. Luka could’ve sworn that Marcelo’s body had been replaced with someone else’s with how sluggish and labored his running and passes were. Sergio’s tackles - or attempts at them - were even worse.

Then, the ball sailed past both Luka and Courtois for Sevilla’s third goal.

Luka lay flat on the pitch for several seconds, admiring the night sky that wasn’t obscured by the light pollution of the stadium spotlights.

The ref blew the whistle three times to end the first half.

“Thank God,” Luka heaved under his breath, pushing to his feet.

What a mess.

As he plodded into the locker room, his cell phone vibrated in his hand. Frowning, when he read Vanja’s name pop up, he swiped it open. “Hello?”

Vanja plainly told him, “Use it,” and hung up.

_She couldn’t mean_ … he thought.  _Could she_?

“Only one way to find out,” he muttered to himself as he toweled off as much sweat as he could.

* * *

“This is the last I want to see of this bullshit! Got it?!” Lopetegui’s tirade reverberated down the halls of Sevilla’s basement.

Ivano and Ema tiptoed around corners and flattened themselves against walls.

“I don’t know how mama expects us to get the rest of the team out of the way,” Ivano puckered his lips sourly.

“We could always tie them up,” Ema said nonchalantly behind him.

Ivano rolled his eyes. “Yeah?” he snorted and glanced over his shoulder. “And how do you think we’ll do-?”

In Ema’s hands was what Ivano guessed to be fifteen meters worth of farm-grade rope.

“Where did you get that?!” Ivano gaped. “Where were you  _hiding_  it?!”

Ema peered down at her hands blankly. “Mama,” was her bland answer. “And in my pocket.”

Ivano wondered just how deep Ema’s pockets were. What else was she keeping in there: semi-automatic weapons?

Lopetegui stomped out of the locker room, their papa hot on his heels, doing his best to try and convince the manager to try different formations in the second half.

Ivano saw that as their chance.

“Sparrow One to Sparrow Two, we have a go.”

Silently, they snuck into the locker room before any of the other players could follow Lopetegui and their dad back to the pitch.

Ivano closed the door behind them and snapped the latch shut.

The room went deadly quiet.

Sergio tilted his head. “Hey guys,” he grimaced. “Whatcha doin’ down here? The game’s not over yet.”

Ivano nodded. “We know.”

Ema pulled her arms apart so the rope snapped like a whip.

“But it is for you,” Ivano droned.

“What?” Sergio blanched.

Ivano hit the light switch and the room was drowned in total darkness.

Raphael hit the deck and tried to crawl under the closest bench he could find.

Cries and shouts of pain echoed through the room.

To his great shock, the lights switched back on not long after he hid.

He peeked his head out from under the bench.

By one of the storage closets in the corner of the room, Ivano and Ema high-fived while muffled shouting filtered through the door.

“What did you do to them?” Raphael croaked as he slithered out from under the bench, almost afraid of the answer that awaited him.

“Hogtied them,” Ivano and Ema said in perfect chorus.

Varane looked around, concerned. “What not me?” he asked Ema, pointing at his face.

“Mama said you actually did your job,” she said, “so we shouldn’t tie you up this time.” She skipped away without another word.

Ivano shrugged. “Don’t worry, she’s not too serious about the last part.” Like his sister, he exited the locker room with that phrase as a parting.

Raphael wasn’t certain what it was, but a chill ran up his spine. “Better not mention this to Luka,” he decided, ignoring the screams of help from the closet as he walked back towards the pitch.

* * *

“Where the hell are the rest of them?!” Lopetegui bellowed, his hair coming undone from its greasy prison.

Raphael chose that moment to emerge from the tunnel, winded.

“You okay, Raphael?” Luka asked, worried.

“Y’know, after what I’ve just seen and heard, I’m not sure.”

“Huh?” Luka grunted.

Lopetegui huffed and pointed at mid-field, “Just get out there while I go find the rest of this shitty team.”

Luka and Raphael approached the sidelines, ready to file into their respective formation positions when something appeared out of the corner of Luka’s eye.

“What the-?”

On the field were eight lifesize, oddly detailed cutouts of the missing players.

Thabaut waved his hands from the goal to get their attention. “Did you know about this?” he yelled across the field.

Luka and Raphael shook their heads in synchronization.

“Luka,” Raphael began uneasily, “how much do you know about your kids?”

“What do you mean?” What kind of question was that?

“Just curious.”

The ref blew the whistle to signal that everyone return to their positions. He blinked hard at the arrangement of cutouts.

“Is Real Madrid really only playing with three members?”

“We…guess so,” Luka answered, though it sounded more like a question on his part.

The players from Sevilla met each other’s gazes and exchanged a few shrugs of their own.

With no further business to attend to, the ref blew his whistle again and the second half was afoot.

No one in the world beyond Vanja and the kids knew, but for the past five years Luka had been Croatia’s version of The Flash except his name was “Supersoničan” - fighting crime, kicking ass, and kissing babies.

A voice in Luka’s head whispered, “ _Use the Force, Luka_ …”

Luka, bemused and frustrated, followed the ball Sevilla kicked out of bounds, ready to throw it in.

The voice returned a moment later with, “ _Wait, sorry, wrong series…you know what, just run_!”

Luka tossed the ball to Varane.

Varane passed back to Luka. Luka returned the ball to Varane. They dribbled the ball back and forth, the speed of the ball increasing exponentially. Varane glanced up at Luka, brows pinched in more than just confusion.

Just as one of the Sevilla defenders approached Luka in an attempt to take the ball, Luka spun around on the ball of his foot and shot through the opening left by the defender. He ran so fast he broke the sound barrier.

Luka would have appreciated the priceless looks of the Sevilla players a bit longer had Real not screwed up their first half royally.

Less than a tenth of a second later, he shot the ball in the goal.

_3-1 Sevilla_.

There was no applause, no cheers, no crying. The stands went so quiet a pin drop would have sounded like a jet engine.

Luka glanced around the field like the confused puppy he was. Raphael’s eyes had doubled in size from the when they dribbled down the field to now. The Sevilla players had different stages of grief on their faces. The Coach for Sevilla was the funniest of all, though, with his jaw unhinged so low that he could probably swallow Luka’s FIFA The Best award whole.

In a blink, the Sevilla players regathered themselves, running up to the ref to try and convince him to disqualify the goal.

“There’s no way that was legal!” one protested.

Another pushed in front of him and plead, “Please review the VAR footage.”

“I was planning on doing that anyway,” the ref deadpanned, leaning back away from the onslaught of questions and arguments and…a wandering hand or two?

The ref jogged off the field, leaving Luka to receive a similar treatment from the rest of his teammates. Or, rather, Raphael and the paper cutouts of the rest of the team.

“Luka, what the hell was that?!” Raphael demanded, grabbing Luka by the shoulders.

“Umm…a goal?”

Raphael fell backwards onto the ground with a groan. “Why do I even try?”

Luka readjusted his headband. “‘Cause you love me?” he offered, hoping it would distract his teammate from any further questions of Luka’s powers-slash-superhuman abilities.

Raphael lifted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t think this is over,” he groused. “I still want an explanation after this game is finished.”

Luka wondered if Vanja would allow that. Granted, the cat was pretty much out of the bag anyway, but she still scared him.

After thirty minutes of the ref viewing and reviewing the VAR footage, consulting the handbook of football rules, yelling at the Sevilla players to step away from the VAR booth, he finally returned to the center of the field and shrugged. “There’s nothing in the rules that says it’s illegal and since I can’t exactly see what he did ‘cause he was moving too fast,” he punctuated the statement with a seething glare at Luka, “it counts.”

Raphael sagged in relief. “We finally got a goal,” he nearly cried.

“It’s not over yet,” Luka sighed, patting him on the shoulder. He moved to head back to his position, when he skidded to a halt. “Should we move the cutouts?” he asked, pointing at the duplicate of Gareth.

Raphael replied flatly, “Why bother?”

“You make a good point.”

Madrid won the match with four points to Sevilla’s three.

When the final whistle rang through the stands, Luka and Raphael fell to their knees.

“Let’s never do this again,” Raphael gasped.

Luka nodded, swallowing thick saliva. “Never again.”

A moment later, Lopetegui staggered up from the tunnel, his hair in worse disarray than when Luka last saw him and bright red splotches across the side of his face.

“MODRIĆ!” he roared. “I have a bone to pick with you!”

“Uh-oh,” Raphael peeped.

Suddenly, Lopetegui disappeared as though yanked back into the tunnel, his shrieks for help suddenly drowned out by something that sounded like the crack of a whip.

Luka could’ve sworn he saw the faintest glimmer of short golden hair glimmer before Lopetegui disappeared, but it was probably just his imagination.

“Glad that’s over,” he sighed and pulled his headband out of his hair.

“I don’t think so,” Raphael gulped and pointed at the stands.

A stampede of girls and women of all ages jumped the railing of the stands and sprinted for the field.

“LUKA WE LOVE YOU!” they squealed.

“PLEASE LET ME HAVE YOUR CHILDREN!”

“Now would be a good time to use that super speed of yours,” Raphael advised before making a beeline for the exit.

Luka didn’t need to be told twice and ran all the way back to Madrid.

* * *

Vanja walked casually down to the basement to find Ema sitting on top of a gagged and tied Lopetegui while she munched on an ice cream cone.

“Okay, Ema, Ivano. You need to untie them now.”

“Do we have to?” they pouted.

“Yes, or else papa will have to do all the work by himself again. You don’t want that, right?”

“No, mama…”

Vanja smiled serenely. She’d certainly raised them right.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Sevilla absolutely earned that win, don't get me wrong.
> 
> Don't ask me what this is because I don't know either.


End file.
